Out of the Frying Pan
by khohen1
Summary: 2nd in series: Banky's year, from the time Holden makes his psychotic epiphany to when they meet at the comicon. SLASH (nothing hardcore) Also explains some things (one anyway) from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back PLEASE R/R!


Disclaimer: I always thought this was a little inane, cause of course I'm not Kevin Smith. . . If I were, this would be a movie you'd be watching, not a story you'd be reading. . . But alas, I shall. Characters property of whoever owns them, but most of all the ever-brilliant Kevin Smith, king of dialogue. I hope I did him justice!  
  
Note: Title is from the saying "out of the frying pan, into the fire." Cause Banky's out of the frying pan now that it's out in the open he's gay, but it's just the start of it.  
  
Takes place after The Sounds of Silence Fill My Ears.  
  
Out of the Frying Pan  
  
It was noon before he came out of his room. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of wondering, waiting. Sixteen hours of hell. Sixteen hours of fearing that he might have just lost the one constant in his life because of his infantile jealousy and psychotic epiphany.  
  
"Bank," he choked out, the breath threatening to cave in his chest. He wasn't aware he'd been holding it until he saw him come out of his room, the burning in his lungs bringing tears to his eyes once again.  
  
"Look at me," he said, quietly. "Tell me it's okay, tell me I didn't fuck up the best thing I had. . . tell me I'm wrong, tell me I dreamed it. Fuck it, I don't care what you tell me, just fucking talk to me!"  
  
Banky's eyes focused on the carpet, the suitcase dragging on the floor behind him. His jaw worked several times before he laughed lightly, shaking his head. Holden knew that laugh. That wasn't Banky's laugh. That was the laugh that came out cause you didn't want to cry.  
  
"I can't, Holden," he said quietly, his free hand reaching up and pushing his hair off his face.  
  
Holden stood for the first time in hours, unsure if his legs could hold him up longer than a mere few seconds. He'd been sitting in the same position on the couch for only God knows how long, having given up hours ago at getting Banky to come out and talk to him. "Yes you can. . . Talk to me, Banky. It's me, Holden."  
  
Banky's eyes flew up, his eyebrows pinched together as he looked at Holden, bewilderment in his eyes. He might as well have punched him. The look in his eyes said it all. "I don't know who Holden is anymore." His voice was low, steady. His face showed no emotion, but it was there in his eyes. The pain, the hurt, the anger, the betrayal.  
  
A tear fell out of Holden's eye and he didn't bother to reach up to wipe it away. "I'm still me," he whispered, holding his hands out in surrender, begging to be forgiven. "I'm still the same guy you knew when we were ten. . . " And then the laugh came again, and Holden felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut.  
  
"No," he said, shaking his head, the smile playing across his face. "The Holden when we were ten gave a shit about me."  
  
"Banky, I love you, you know that!"  
  
Banky closed his eyes, unable to bear looking at him right now. Not now, not while it was so raw. His grip on his suitcase tightened as he started for the door. "Don't do this, Holden. Just let me go. . . "  
  
He broke then, as the sobs wracked his body. "Banky, just fucking wait. . . just fucking talk to me!" Taking a deep breath he looked at him, hoping that his eyes could tell Banky all he needed to know. Hoping they could still converse beyond the words that wouldn't come, as they had been able to for 20 years. "I need you to stay. . . I can't have lost you too!"  
  
Banky turned to face him, willing the tears to crawl back up inside, but unable to stop them. "How could you do that, Holden. . . how could you do that to me?"  
  
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Bank. I did it for you. . . I did it cause I love you."  
  
"BULLSHIT!" Banky dropped the handle to the rolling suitcase, taking three quick steps to stand before Holden, poking him in the chest. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have done that. . . not in front of her." The tears fell unchecked down his face as he looked at his best friend. "You did it for you. . . you did it for some sick twisted fucked up notion that you needed experience. . . You did it. . . " He paused, steeling himself to say it. "You did it for her, cause you wanted to be with her. Cause she's all that mattered to you. You did it despite our friendship, not for it."  
  
Holden shook his head. "No," he said, feeling for all the world like he was going to bleed to death right there at that very spot. "I never meant to hurt you."  
  
Banky threw out his arm in an exasperated gesture. "Of course you didn't mean to, Holden!!!" He shook his head, the anger bubbling to the surface, past the pain, past the betrayal, until it was coursing through his veins like a poison. Picking up a mug he had purchased Holden years ago at a carnival, having had their picture painted on it, he held it in front of Holden's face. With all the might he had in him he hurled it to the ground, shattering it into a million pieces on the floor between them. "Whether I meant to do that or not. . . is it any less broken," he asked calmly.  
  
Holden stared down at the mug, feeling as if Banky had shattered him and not the mug. "Is that what I did, Banky," he whispered, staring at the shards of glass. "Did I break you?"  
  
"What the fuck do you think, man," Banky yelled, somehow restraining himself from reaching out and beating the living daylights out of him. "If you thought I loved you, if you believed I loved you. . . how the fuck could you confront me like that? How the fuck could you ask me, expose me, in front of her. In front of that fucking dyke?!" He shook his head again, backing up, unable to stand the sight of Holden at that moment. "You should have asked me. . . you should have talked to me, one on one. . . It was always you and me, man. Always us, until she came into our lives and threw it into a complete fucking upheaval!"  
  
Finally Holden looked up, shaking his head. "But what about you," he asked, feeling himself get angry. "What the fuck about you, Banky?! You're no fucking innocent in this!" He stepped forward, not even feeling it as the shards of glass dug into his bare foot. "What about you, digging into her past?! Putting doubt in my head! Chastising, berating me for FALLING IN LOVE! Cause I LOVE her, Banky! And if you're my friend, if you love me, romantically or platonically, shouldn't that have been enough for you?"  
  
"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, GOD DAMNIT," Banky yelled, throwing his arms up and cradling his head, feeling as if he was going insane. "I don't know what I was doing. . . I don't know what was going through my head! I don't know what the fuck I did, Holden!" He looked at Holden, and what he saw in Banky's eyes made Holden hope for a second that things could go back to where they were. "I didn't know I loved you," Banky said quietly, shattering Holden's one thread of hope. "I didn't know until last night. . . and you tried to whore me out. . . to further your experience. To win the girl back. It was all for the girl, I was just an aside." He shook his head, the tears falling even faster. "And you broke me. . . You broke my heart before I even knew you had it."  
  
Holden stepped forward, taking Banky's face in his hands, meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don't know what I was thinking, Banky, you have to believe me. I was so fucked up." He waited for Banky to jerk away. When he didn't he continued. "I don't know where the fuck my head was. . . the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, Bank, ya gotta believe that."  
  
Banky's hand reached up, holding onto Holden's. Leaning his head forward he rested his forehead against Holden's, closing his eyes and trying to draw his strength up. "I know," he whispered. "And I don't know why I did the things I did. . . I just couldn't stand the thought of losing you."  
  
Holden slid his arms around Banky, holding him to him in a crushing hug. "Fuck," he said, closing his eyes and smiling. "I can't stand the thought of losing you either." Pulling back he smiled at Banky, relieved to see a tentative smile on his friend's face. Placing his hands on Banky's face he leaned forward, closing the gap between their lips. "I love you," he whispered just before kissing him. Their lips touched and he felt Banky stiffen, and then slightly give. He felt his mouth open beneath his and their tongues intertwine. Banky's hand reached around Holden's back, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss.  
  
And then Banky was backing away, a whole fresh set of tears rolling down his face. "Fuck, Holden," he whispered, smiling sadly. "I have to go."  
  
"Wait," Holden said, reaching out and grabbing Banky, unwilling to let him walk out of the door. "We can start over, we'll start fresh. . . we'll start together, just us. . . You and me again, the way it should be, the way it's always been."  
  
Banky laughed, and this time it was actually genuine, though torturously sad. "That's just it, Holden. The part of you that kissed me, that's not the part of me that kissed you."  
  
"Banky, I don't. . . "  
  
Banky reached down and grabbing his suitcase again. "You did that because you love me, yes. . . You love me as a friend." He shook his head. "It's not the same kind of love, Holden. It's just not the fucking same."  
  
"Wait. . . "  
  
Banky opened the door, closing his eyes as he heard Holden call after him. Not turning around he raised his hand in a halfhearted wave. "Good luck, Holden."  
  
"Banky. . . don't. . . please don't go. . . "  
  
~*~*~*~ 4 months later. . .  
  
"Well if it isn't Banky fucking Edwards," lilted a voice behind him. "What the fuck are you doing in New York bitch?!"  
  
He turned and face Hooper, smiling despite himself. "Hey, Hoop," he said, nodding at him.  
  
Hooper closed the gap between them, drawing Banky to him in a hug. "You're such a bitch, you know that? She doesn't write, she doesn't call. . . " He smirked up at Banky. "Wouldn't have killed you to let us know you were still alive, you know."  
  
"Sorry," Banky said quietly, the urge to run and the urge to stay creating a confusing swirl in his head. He looked around, his eyes searching.  
  
"He's not here, baby," Hooper said, smiling at him. "But he's worried sick about you."  
  
Banky avoided his gaze, instead looking inside the nearby bakery. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Hooper positioned himself beside Banky, looping his arm through his. "Walk with me."  
  
Banky considered taking his arm back, turning, running for the nearest bus stop. Darting out in the busy streets of New York, never to be found again. Instead he fell in step with Hooper, an odd sense of comfort enveloping him. "You still didn't answer my question," he said, looking at Hooper out of the corner of his eye as they walked down Main Street.  
  
Hooper cast him an amused look. "Why don't we cut the bullshit, shall we? Just get it over with."  
  
Banky looked forward, refusing to meet Hooper's eyes. "What do you mean. . . "  
  
"Don't play coy with me honey, you know you want to ask about him."  
  
Banky stopped walking, causing Hooper to stumble to a halt, turning to face him. "I can't do this Hooper."  
  
Hooper locked eyes with him, nodding. "I understand."  
  
Banky let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. "I have to get to. . . "  
  
"Keep running, baby. Keep hiding. Keep ducking away from your shadow. Whatever gets you through it." Hooper smiled and leaned in closer. "But you ain't foolin' me for one red hot second, Banky Edwards. I see through you like glass."  
  
Banky closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally he let out a breath and looked at Hooper. "How is he," he asked, barely audible.  
  
"Sick with worry, Banky," he answered, linking his arm with Banky and continuing down the street. "He's convinced himself you're either off lying in some ditch somewhere or jumped off the Empire State Building." Hooper smiled and bumped hips with him. "But I said not our Banky. . . Banky might be gone, but he's not dead."  
  
Banky felt tears come to his eyes and quickly turned his head so Hooper couldn't see them. "He thinks I'm dead," he asked.  
  
Hooper nodded. "He's been tearing himself apart, honey. He's convinced himself he's killed you, that if you are still alive that he's killed a part of you that will never come back." He looked at Banky, raising an eyebrow. "Has he?"  
  
"I don't know," he said honestly, still looking straight ahead.  
  
"Well," Hooper said, still walking jauntily beside him. "We'll get it back, won't we Banky?"  
  
Banky looked at Hooper, smiling slightly. "Does anything ever fucking bring you down?"  
  
Hooper laughed. "Only if he's tall dark and handsome. . . and gentlemanly of course."  
  
~*~  
  
Hooper smiled, crossing his arms and looking around the apartment. "Well, well, it's almost as if you've grown up, Banky," he said, admiring the understated decoration of the small apartment overlooking the Manhattan skyline.  
  
Banky laughed, handing Hooper a beer and sitting on the couch. "It came like this. . . I just live here."  
  
Hooper nodded, sitting next to him. "Well that explains the lack of phallic symbols and curse word riddled scribblings."  
  
Banky laughed slightly, looking down into his beer, still unsure how comfortable he was with Hooper being there. For four months he'd been able to escape his past. Atleast, he'd been able to escape having to confront his past. He still had the dreams, and the memories. He still had moments when he couldn't breath because a memory had crept up on him out of the blue.  
  
"Well, I didn't think the apartment manager would appreciate a 'Here lies cockboy' scrawled across his pristine white walls."  
  
Hooper turned so as to face Banky, putting his elbow on the back of the couch and propping his head up in it. "What happened Banky? Why did you run away? Why did you completely cut yourself off from everyone?" He shook his head, for once not seeming to be the happy-go-lucky Hooper everyone knew and loved. "I was your friend too, ya know."  
  
Banky closed his eyes, looking away. "I know you are, Hoop. It was just too painful."  
  
Hooper reached out and took Banky's hand, wrapping it tightly in his own. "What happened?"  
  
He looked at Hooper, tears shining in his eyes. "What did he tell you?"  
  
Hooper, who until this point had never seen Banky cry, took a moment to settle the nerves that had been set into motion by the wetness in Banky's eyes. "He told me he confronted you. That he confronted you in front of Alyssa, and he'd lost you forever. That he should have done it just you and him, but he was stupid and confused, and he did it at the most horrible time in the most awful way. . . but he didn't go into details."  
  
Banky laughed slightly, nodding his head. "Good old Holden, leaving out the details." He took a deep breath, taking back his hand from Hooper and wiping at his face. He'd never been good at the whole sympathy thing. He knew Hooper was sincere, but it still made him feel like less of a man, for him to have his hand held like some five year old. "He sat me and Alyssa down on the couch, proceeded to tell me I was in love with him, kissed me, and then asked me and Alyssa to have a threesome with him so 1) he could have as much experience as Alyssa, and 2) supposedly so I could come to terms with me being gay."  
  
"Uh uh, honey," Hooper said, his eyes wide. "You've got to be shitting me. Holden? Holden McNeil?"  
  
"I shit you not," Banky said, smiling at Hooper's shock.  
  
Hooper reached out and ran his thumb across Banky's cheek, smiling sadly. "No wonder you're so hurt baby."  
  
Banky leaned his head back away from Hooper's hand. "Thank God she said no."  
  
Hooper's eyes widened even more. "You said yes?!"  
  
Banky nodded, looking down. "I didn't know I was going to say yes. . . I told myself no, I told myself to punch him, that I wasn't gay, no fucking way was I gay! But then it came out. . . Sure." He pinched his eyes closed, rubbing at his eyes, sick of holding back the tears but not wanting to let them go. "Sometimes I wonder what if it had happened. . . what if she hadn't said no. Would we have done it? Would I have? Or would I have run out? Would he have run out? Would he have then been disgusted with me? Would I be disgusted with him?"  
  
Hooper nodded. "And then you wonder. . . what if he found out he felt the same way about you, dropped the girl, and came to you."  
  
Banky nodded, concentrating on twisting his hands together. "I know. . . stupid huh?"  
  
"It's not stupid, it's human nature." Hooper reached up and ran his hands through Banky's hair. "I like your hair long, it's all rugged."  
  
Banky laughed, looking at Hooper for the first time during their conversation. "Do you?"  
  
Hooper nodded, smiling. "It's all. . . I'm a bad motherfucker, I am."  
  
Banky ran his hand through his hair, which was now past his ears and almost to his shoulders. Sighing he leaned back in the couch and lolled his head back, closing his eyes. "So here I am, all by myself in New York."  
  
"I'm here now, and if you think for one second I'm letting you forget that, you're more stupid than I thought."  
  
Banky laughed. "Alright, so here I am, alone save for Hooper in New York. . . and I can't stop fucking thinking about Holden."  
  
"Well, honey, he was a big part of your life. Whether you were in love with him or not, he was your best friend for 20 years."  
  
Banky looked at Hooper for a moment. "How stupid was I to not know, Hoop? How fucking stupid was I to not know how I felt about him?"  
  
Hooper smiled. "You knew, you just didn't want to admit it to yourself."  
  
Banky shook his head, his eyes widening. "I didn't. I completely didn't fucking know."  
  
Hooper raised an eyebrow. "If you completely didn't fucking know, Banky, then you would have punched him when he kissed you."  
  
"God," Banky moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Why does it still hurt so much?"  
  
"Cause you ran away, Banky." Hooper reached over, running his hand through Banky's hair again. This time Banky let him, taking comfort in the gesture. "Cause you didn't confront it then."  
  
"I couldn't," Banky said, a tear silently finally falling out of his eye. "It hurt too fucking much to look at him." He took a deep breath and tried to say something else. Instead of words a strangled sob came out and suddenly the torrent of tears was back again.  
  
"Come here," Hooper said, putting his hand on Banky's shoulder, pulling him to him. Banky allowed him to pull him into a hug, tucking his head between Hooper's head and chest. "Shhh, let it out," Hooper whispered, running his hand through Banky's hair.  
  
When Banky finally rose up, wiping at his face and eyes disgustedly. Hooper looked at him shaking his head. "Wow, he really hurt you baby."  
  
Banky looked at him, embarrassed for having cried in front of him. "Yes, Hooper, what the fuck did you think?"  
  
Hooper shrugged. "I don't know. I thought he'd scared you. I thought your reaction was more to being outted than to him." He laughed slightly. "I knew you loved him, but I never realized to what depth."  
  
"Yeah, well," Banky said, sighing and wiping a final time at his face. "Neither did I."  
  
After a few moments of silence Hooper clapped his hands together. "I know exactly what you need."  
  
Banky laughed, having missed Hooper's ever-readiness to be chipper. "What's that?"  
  
"Dinner ala Hooper!" He stood up and bounced into the kitchen. "Tell me you have food, honey," he called over to Banky.  
  
"Yeah," Banky said as he stood from the couch. "Rummage through whatever, I'm going to go take a shower."  
  
Forty minutes later Banky was freshly showered and changed into loose fitting jeans and a Superman t-shirt. When he walked in the kitchen his grin widened as he saw the feast before him. "Shit, I had all this? I was pretty sure it was just Ramen noodles and maybe a steak or two."  
  
Hooper smiled, setting the bowl of green beans down next to the mashed potatoes. "I decided you needed a nice home cooked Southern meal."  
  
Banky laughed. "What, southern Jersey?!"  
  
"No, the deep south," Hooper said.  
  
Banky nodded. "So you did go to the New Orleans comicon then?"  
  
Hooper nodded. "You were sorely missed though. . . who else can say Nubian quite like you?"  
  
Banky laughed again, spooning himself some green beans. "I can't remember the last time I actually had a meal. Usually it's me in front of the TV with a pizza and a beer."  
  
"Just you," Hooper asked, raising an eyebrow. "No hot young New York man beside you?"  
  
Banky sighed, looking at Hooper. "No, but sometimes a woman." He rolled his eyes at Hooper's look. "What do you want from me?"  
  
"Banky, you're gay. Why. . . "  
  
"Because, Hooper," Banky said, shaking his head and mixing the butter into his potatoes. "If it's not him, I don't know if it's anyone."  
  
"Banky Edwards, there are millions of men on this earth. Holden McNeil is not a God unto himself." Hooper leaned forward and pointed his fork at him. "And, I might add, you are an attractive man, and many men would be lucky to have you."  
  
"Attractive," Banky said, opting for lighthearted this go around. "I'm fucking hot!"  
  
Hooper laughed, nodding. "Especially with that hair."  
  
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, enjoying their meal. Banky smiled as he watched Hooper pop a large bite of potatoes into his mouth. "How lady like," he said as a small bit of potato squeezed out of Hooper's mouth.  
  
"Bitch, I ain't gotta be lady like in front of you. You're family."  
  
Banky sat his fork down, startled to find a lightheartedness in him that he thought he'd lost. "I've missed you," he said, sounding surprised. "I'm. . . I'm glad I ran into you."  
  
Hooper smiled at him, winking. "I've missed you too Banky. . . what I've missed most are your homophobic rants. . . 'Fucking cockknocker! Look at this fucking faggot'!"  
  
Banky's smile faded slightly as he looked down. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry if the way I talked ever offended you. . . "  
  
Hooper reached across the table and placed his hand over Banky's. "Honey I was joking. You didn't offend me. I always knew where you were coming from. I knew you didn't mean it."  
  
Banky nodded, smiling and shaking his head. "How do you do it, Hoop? How are you happy all of the time?"  
  
Hooper shook his head. "Honey, I'm not. But sometimes, if you put the face on long enough, it leaks to the rest of you."  
  
Banky shook his head. "Well, I wish I was like that."  
  
"You should come home, Banky," Hooper said quietly, looking him in the eye. "It's where you belong."  
  
Banky shook his head, finishing off the last of his meal. "Don't start, Hoop," he said, pushing back and standing up. "I'm not ready to face him yet."  
  
Hooper stood, blocking his path to the den, a determined look on his face. "Will you atleast call him then?"  
  
Banky shook his head. "I can't, Hooper! You can tell him I'm okay!"  
  
"He thinks you're DEAD, Banky! Just let him hear your voice! One minute, just let him hear it for one minute!"  
  
"I just can't, Hooper. Let it go. It's over. He's not a part of my life anymore."  
  
Hooper leveled him with a dubious gaze. "Honey, you forget that you just cried on my shoulder about him. The fuck he's out of your life."  
  
Banky let out a groan, covering his face. "I can't go back to that, Hoop. I can't go back to the way it was. Not now, now when I know how I feel about him."  
  
"No one's asking you to go back to the way it was. I'm just asking you, as a friend, to call him. To let him know you're okay. Hell, to let yourself know he's okay."  
  
"Fuck!" Banky walked over to the phone, picking it up and looking at Hooper. "What's the fucking number?"  
  
Hooper smiled, cocking his head to one side. "Oh, like you don't know it by heart."  
  
Banky mumbled to himself, dialing the ten digits, feeling as if his heart was going to explode. After three rings he was about to hang up when he heard the breathless voice at the other end.  
  
"Hello, hello, don't hang up, don't hang up. . . sorry I just walked in the door."  
  
He closed his eyes, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He thought his knees would buckle but thankfully Hooper walked up behind him, ready to support him.  
  
"Hello? Anyone there?" Holden asked, laughing. "Mom?"  
  
"Hey," Banky finally choked out, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cool surface of the wall.  
  
Dead silence.  
  
"Hey, Holden, it's me. . . "  
  
"Banky?"  
  
Banky felt his own tears form again when he heard the tears in Holden's voice. "Yeah, it's me."  
  
"Oh thank God," Holden said, barely audible. "And you're okay?"  
  
Banky remained silent for a moment, debating on what he would say to that.  
  
"Banky, are you okay," Holden said a little stronger.  
  
Banky smiled, just picturing Holden getting ready to come kick some ass if Banky said he wasn't. "I'm alright."  
  
"God, it's good to hear your voice."  
  
Banky laughed. "Yeah, you too. . . I have to go Holden."  
  
"Banky. . . we. . . we just got on the phone. . . "  
  
"I know, I'm sorry. I can't do this right now. . . But maybe I'll call again."  
  
"Banky please. . . I love you, please don't hang up on me. . . "  
  
"I have to Holden, I'll talk to you later."  
  
"Bank, wait. . . what's your number. . . where are you. . . "  
  
Banky hung up the phone, leaning against the wall with his eyes shut, feeling like his heart was breaking all over again. "God," he moaned, his hands coming up to cover his face. "I can't believe how hard that was."  
  
Hooper reached out and touched the side of Banky's face, making Banky look at him. "But doesn't it feel better, just to have heard his voice?"  
  
Banky smiled, straightening up a little. "Yeah," he said quietly. "And after my heart stops breaking maybe I can enjoy that a little more." He turned, facing Hooper, and laughed.  
  
Hooper laughed as well, reaching up and taking Banky's face in his hands. "You were always so funny," he said, standing on his tip toes and kissing Banky on the forehead quickly.  
  
~*~*~*~ 4 months later  
  
Dear Holden,  
  
How the fuck did we get here? How the fuck, after 20 years of knowing each other inside and out, did we get to the place where I can't fucking talk to you without feeling like my fucking heart is going to break into a million god damned pieces?  
  
I handled it all wrong. I handled it wrong from the very beginning, right up until the end. I forgot what we were to each other and instead I chose to yell and scream and run. I've always done that, you know that. You of all people know that best. You should have seen through my shit, saw fit to confront me on it.  
  
But maybe you didn't want to hurt me. Maybe you'd rather have me yell at you, rant at you, hurt you in so many ways I can't even comprehend now that it's over, then hurt me by telling me the truth.  
  
I didn't know. At least, not at a conscious level. I think you know that too. In fact, I don't think there's anything I can possibly say in this letter that you already don't know, somewhere inside you, to be the truth. Cause you know me so much better than I've ever known myself.  
  
But I never knew I loved you in that way. I knew I cared about you. I knew I didn't want to see you hurt. I knew I'd kill for you. I knew you felt the same way. But when she came along, and I don't know why it was her, but when she came along I just went fucking insane. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was because she was the first girl you actively pursued. The first one you professed your love for before you fucked her. Maybe it was because she was a dyke, I don't know. But she bugged me. She bugged me to my very core.  
  
I was convinced it was the comic at first. You spending all that time with her, affecting our work. And I was convinced she was fucking with you. That, as a dyke, it was her duty to fuck with as many men's heads as she could. I was sure I was right. I was sure she was the bain of all that was evil in the world, and I was going to go to any means necessary to kick that bitch to the curb. Somewhere along the line I stopped caring about if you got hurt in the process, I was so fucking bent on getting her out that I forgot to think about what I was doing could hurt you. And then when I saw I was hurting you, I ignored it. It's for the better in the end, I'd tell myself. He'll thank me when it's over. He'll see I'm right.  
  
And then I ran into Cohey Lunden, and I had the perfect chance. I had the perfect way to get rid of her once and for all. I never stopped to think that maybe this was something that you should decide. I never thought period, during that whole thing. All I knew is that she was fucking up what we had built over the past 20 years. She was slowly but surely stealing you from me.  
  
It wasn't til the morning after that I realized just what I'd done to you. I've only seen you like that once, maybe twice, since I've known you. In so much pain you couldn't move, couldn't speak. You couldn't breath. And I did that to you. I was the cause of it. And you didn't blame me. You blamed her, you blamed yourself, but you didn't blame me. You didn't look at me with anger, you looked at me like 'save me, help me.' I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I did that to you, and you didn't even see that.  
  
I think I knew a little then. I think it started to occur to me that it was slightly overboard (okay, completely and utterly psychotically overboard) for me to go to such great lengths to get her out of our lives. I'd at one time liked her. We'd had more than a few laughs that night at Meow Mix. But when she threatened the dichotomy of our relationship, suddenly I was this psychotic mess of anger. I think it started to occur to me, but I wouldn't let it. I pushed it away, refused to acknowledge it.  
  
And then came your stupid plan. Your stupid, psychotic plan. I know where it came from Holden. It came from stupidity. The stupidity that makes you do psychotic things when you're in love. It came from the same place that made me do to you what I did with Alyssa. I can't blame you and not blame myself. There is no blame. We were both fucking idiots. All we had to do was talk to each other. . . 20 fucking years of friendship, the best most reliable constant thing I'd had in my life, and down it went in flames cause my stupid gene kicked it in high gear.  
  
And you kissed me, and I knew. I knew right then. Holy fuck me shit, he's right. I love him. I fucking love him.  
  
I love you, Holden. I guess I always have a little bit. But now that I know, now that I'm forced to accept it, it's more than just a little bit. So much more. More like all-consuming. More like unshakable. And I can't look at you, I can't think of you, I can't hear you talk. . . without it breaking me a little more.  
  
I'm a shell of a man right now, Holden. I'm a shell, and I'm trying to come back. Hooper's helping me, and I hope you understand why I won't let him tell you where I am. I need this right now. I need to work on this without you, cause this is the one thing you can't fix. If you're around I'm afraid I'm going to completely crumble. I'm better than I was, but I'm not there yet.  
  
One day I will be, I hope. But mostly, I hope you'll be able to forgive me.  
  
I'll love you til the day I die, but maybe one day I won't feel like I wish I already was when I see you.  
  
Love Always, Banky Edwards  
  
Banky sat reading his letter for the four thousandth time, wiping at the tears in his eyes to read the last words. Love always. He always would, he knew that. But it would never happen. He realized that now. It wasn't meant to be. Holden wasn't that guy.  
  
Putting it in an envelope he scrolled the address of his old abode and put a stamp on it. He set it on the top of his bills and pushed them to the center of the table to be brought down to the mail the next time he went outside.  
  
A knock at the door came and he stood, running his hands down his shirt front, smoothing it. He knew who it was, knew he didn't need to be concerned with looking his best. This person had seen him at his worst, had seen him through it in fact. But he still smoothed his hair down before opening the door and smiling at him.  
  
"Hey sweetie," Hooper crooned, leaning over and offering his cheek to Banky to kiss.  
  
Banky laughed and kissed Hooper's cheek, opening the door and letting him stroll in, that swagger in his step. "Hey, Hoop."  
  
Hooper looked around the apartment at the array of notebook paper, pens, pencils, and charcoal, raising an eyebrow. "What's this honey? Building a nest for your eggs?"  
  
Banky laughed, picking up a page and handing it to Hooper. "It's a project I'm working on."  
  
Hooper looked at the page of drawings, a comic in the process of being written. "You've started writing again," he said quietly, smiling. "Good for you honey."  
  
"Yeah," Banky said, sitting on the couch, bending over and picking up a few stray papers, putting them in a pile on the coffee table, clearing a space to walk in. "It's all I know how to do, Hoop. I can't live off of royalties for Bluntman and Chronic forever."  
  
"Not at New York's crazy ass inflated prices anyway," Hooper said, coming and sitting by him. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Picking yourself up like you have. Getting back in the game."  
  
Banky smiled that brilliant smile of his, making the slightly dark room just a bit brighter. "I wish you'd stop saying that. You make me feel like a fucking child."  
  
"Awww," Hooper said, patting Banky on the cheek. "Poor Bank-bank."  
  
"Fuck off, faggot," Banky said affectionately, standing and walking into the kitchen, grabbing two beers. "I'm trying to get it done in time for the comicon in Boston. I want to have six issues."  
  
Hooper raised his eyes. "Honey, that's only 4 months away. How on God's green earth are you going to get six issues done in 4 months?"  
  
Banky shrugged. "I'm inspired. You're looking at the start of number three."  
  
"Well will wonders never cease," Hooper said, impressed. "And just how long have you been keeping this secret from me?!"  
  
Banky laughed, scratching at his beard. "A month."  
  
"A month! You little cuntrag!"  
  
Banky laughed again, ducking as Hooper swatted a pillow at him. "I wanted to wait and see if I could still do it before I showed it to you."  
  
Hooper gave him a reproachful look. "Well of course you fucking can Banky. I thought you were over this self-hatred self-doubt thing."  
  
Banky laughed, shrugging. "It's a hard fucking habit to break, what do you want from me?"  
  
"I'm just giving you shit, baby," Hooper said affectionately, patting Banky's leg. "Not too many people bounce back as quickly as you."  
  
Banky let out a snort. "Quickly? It's been eight fucking months, Hoop, what are you talking about?"  
  
"Honey, some people never get over shit like this!" Hooper nodded, his eyes serious. "When I broke up with Gary it took me a year to get over him."  
  
Banky's eyebrows bunched together. "Gary?"  
  
"Oh, honey, do you not know about Gary?!" Hooper laughed, thinking. "Oh, that might have been before you knew me. Gary was my first love. The girl of my dreams, so to speak. He. . . he left me to go back to his wife."  
  
Banky's eyebrows rose. "To his wife?"  
  
Hooper nodded. "Some people deny themselves even after they find out what they truly are. He wasn't ready to accept that he was gay, was afraid people would find out." Hooper frowned, remembering. "And I'm not the kind of guy that can un-gay myself to suit someone else."  
  
Banky laughed. "Unless ya know, it's for a comic."  
  
Hooper pursed his lips at him. "Bitch, you know why I do that. It's made me a lot of money, too." He smiled slightly. "Besides, I've been thinking about stopping that. About being true to myself for once, being me. That comic's not me speaking, not really. That comic's become to be the antithesis of what I am. I don't believe a word I write in that comic."  
  
Banky nodded, putting his hand on Hooper's shoulder. "Whatever you decide I'm sure will be the best."  
  
He smiled at Banky, putting his hand on top of his. "Thanks, sweetie." Banky smiled at him and he found himself smiling back. There was just something so beautiful about that man's smile, it was positively contagious. "So what about you? Any conquests?"  
  
Banky looked away, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, maybe one."  
  
Hooper situated himself on the couch to face Banky. "Really?! Well come on, bitch, spill!"  
  
Banky laughed, facing him. "It's not confirmed. Just an interest I have."  
  
"Who the fuck is it, Mysterio?! Spill the fucking can of worms already!"  
  
Banky laughed again, rubbing his hand over his face. "I'm nervous to. I don't know what to do about it. It's someone pretty important to me, and I'm afraid it might ruin the relationship."  
  
Hooper frowned. "Baby, you know what happened the last time you bottled it all inside yourself. Just be honest to this person, who ever it is, Banky. If you're honest and they bail, that's their loss. You don't need that kind of person in your life anyway."  
  
Banky frowned, still unsure. "Are you sure? Cause if they don't feel the same and it fucks up our friendship. . . I don't know if I can handle it."  
  
Hooper patted his hand, smiling. "Don't worry baby, you've always got me."  
  
Banky laughed. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."  
  
Hooper looked at him, confused. "What?"  
  
Banky shook his head, laughing. "Nevermind. So I should just go for it, then?"  
  
Hooper nodded. "Baby you have to. If you don't you'll never know."  
  
"Alright," Banky said, running his hand over his beard again, nodding. His eyes flicked to Hooper and then back down, his mind running a million miles a minute. Finally he shrugged and just went for it. He brought Hooper forward by the back of his neck, mashing his lips to his. When he felt the short black man respond he deepened their kiss, getting his tongue in. His hand lifted and cupped Hooper's cheek, turning till Hooper's back was against the couch, leaning into him. It became more heated, more feverish, harder to breath.  
  
His hand wondered down Hooper's taught body, feeling the muscular build beneath the thin black long-sleeved shirt, feeling himself grow hard. He felt Hooper's hands wind in his hair, pulling him even closer, deepening their kiss still more. He let out a guttural moan as he felt the bulge in Hooper's pants, his own stiffness apparent through his jeans resting on Hooper's hip.  
  
As if reading each other's minds they both sank to the floor, kneeling, taking off each other's shirts. Mashing their naked torsos together, unable to stop kissing. He reached for Hooper's belt first, fumbling clumsily around to get it unbuckled, never breaking contact with his lips. By the time he's started on the zipper Hooper already had Banky's pants undone and was caressing his butt through the thin silky material of his boxers.  
  
"Wait," Hooper said, pulling back when Banky got his pants undone. He put a hand to Banky's chest, pushing him back slightly. "Are you sure?"  
  
Banky met his eyes, smiling and cocking his head. "I still want to know what a Nubian is." Hooper laughed despite himself, but pushed Banky back as he tried to advance again. Banky sighed and sat back on his haunches. "Look, Hooper. . . I don't know, but I just realized one day that I wanted you. I was talking about you just now. . . and I didn't know how to tell you, so I just kissed you."  
  
Hooper nodded. "That's as far as it has to go, we can stop right here."  
  
Banky frowned, leaning back slightly. "Are you saying you're not attracted to me?"  
  
Hooper laughed. "Bitch, you just felt how hard I was."  
  
Banky laughed, nodding. "Right."  
  
"I'm saying I don't want to lose you as a friend. . . I want you to be sure you want to go here before we do this, cause I don't wanna be a regret in the morning."  
  
"No regrets," Banky said, leaning forward and kissing Hooper softly, holding his face in his hands. "I want this, Hoop. I've known about this for a while. I'm sure."  
  
When Banky leaned forward again Hooper let him. When Banky stood up and held out his hand, Hooper took it. When Banky led him to the bedroom he followed. And when Banky pulled him onto the bed, he fell into him, losing himself as well.  
  
~*~*~*~ 4 months later  
  
"Hey. I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here, Banky."  
  
Banky looked up, the shock on his face extremely apparent. "Alyssa."  
  
She smiled at him, throwing down his comic. "Guess you don't have to deal with being a tracer anymore, huh?"  
  
Banky found himself smiling. "Guess not."  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, looking him in the eyes. "It was never my intention to come between you two."  
  
Banky smiled sadly, shaking his head. "It's me who's sorry. I should have left myself out of it. Never crossed that line."  
  
"You loved him, Banky. I should have seen that. . . that I can understand." She smiled again, laughing. "I sure as hell did."  
  
Banky reached out, taking her hand. "I'm sorry for what I did to you Alyssa. At the time I didn't know my reasons, but I should have figured it out. I should have realized that your love for him was true, that it was me who was causing the problems."  
  
She squeezed his hand. "I know," she said, and for the first time Banky noticed how her pixie face might be the most adorable thing on the planet. "Have you spoken to him?"  
  
Banky shook his head. "Here and there. . . but not often. I wasn't ready to face him."  
  
She nodded. "I haven't either. I still don't know how I feel about him."  
  
He smiled, looking past he at the growing line. Sighing he faced her again. "I wish we weren't at this damn convention. . . I think we'd have a lot in common to talk about."  
  
She laughed, looking behind her. "Yeah. I have to get to my table too." She smiled, reaching out and touching his cheek. "Be happy, Banky. You deserve it."  
  
He smiled at her as she left. "You too," he said quietly, watching her walk to her table. Turning his attention to the next customer he smiled at him.  
  
~*~  
  
"So where's Holden McNeil?"  
  
Banky took a deep breath, wishing this fan would stop asking questions and just let him sign the fucking comic and go away. "I don't know, got out of the business I guess."  
  
"So, what, you don't talk to him much anymore?"  
  
"No," Banky said, aggravated, his eyes roaming the convention. "Not anymore. . . " He trailed off as he noticed him, standing behind the lines. Off to the side, inconspicuous. For some reason, just drawing Banky's attention.  
  
He smiled at Banky and Banky felt himself smile back half way. He raised an eyebrow. Holden held up his comic, Baby Dave, holding a thumb up. Banky smiled, laughing, touched by Holden's approval. Not many men could get away with that lame thumbs-up gesture, but to Banky it didn't matter. It was as good as gold coming from Holden.  
  
Banky looked to his right, jerking his head to get Holden's attention, pointing behind him. Holden looked and saw what Banky was pointing to, smiling and shrugging. Banky held up his hands, smiling and bringing his fingers together.  
  
'Share a moment, Holden,' it said. 'She's right there.'  
  
Holden held up his fingers, crossed. Banky answered with two thumbs up, smiling softly. He watched Holden walk over to her, feeling the all too familiar feeling of sadness wash over him. But this time it was more like nastalgia. Like he almost missed the pain he'd felt for Holden. Holden would always hold a large portion of his heart, but he didn't hold all of it anymore.  
  
There was a good deal left over for a certain other person at that convention. The least likely suspect.  
  
After the signing was over he went into the room where Hooper was holding the panel, nodding and winking at him from the seclusion of the back row. He saw Hooper's stoney mask falter slightly as he tried not to smile and nodded in his direction.  
  
This was Hooper X's last foray into the comic world. . . next year came the new Hoop. . . Banky was pretty sure he'd be well received, if by no one else than himself.  
  
He knew before he looked who it was that sat next to him. He smiled and turned to face him. "Ready for the act," he asked.  
  
Holden laughed, nodding his head. "With you? Always."  
  
Banky smiled, looking forward again. "The rage doesn't come til later," he said, looking back at him. "Has he told you?"  
  
Holden held a steady gaze with him, smiling and nodding. "About you two? Yeah."  
  
Banky smiled, looking back at Hooper. "I thought he would." He took a deep breath, laughing. "Who'd have thought right? Me, first of all, being gay. . . And second of all. . . with Hooper? The bitchiest fag on earth."  
  
Holden let out a laugh, covering his mouth in embarrassment as he realized the whole auditorium had heard him. Banky didn't have that problem, having mastered the art of laughing silently. His face scrunched up and he crossed his arms, holding the laughter threatening to come bubbling out of him in. Finally calming he turned to face Holden again, who was still chuckling slightly. "I've missed you," he said quietly.  
  
Holden faced Banky, tears from laughter, or were they from pain, glistening in his eyes. "Me too, Bank. More than you know."  
  
Banky reached down and squeezed Holden's hand, facing Hooper and smiling at him. "I have an idea, actually," he said, laughing.  
  
"Can we get together after this, Banky? Please? Catch up?"  
  
Banky looked at Holden, surprised at how the smile on his face wasn't forced at all. At how genuinely happy he was to see Holden. "Yeah," he said. "But let's put this on hold. . . here it comes."  
  
"This genre is hell bent on portraying the stereotype of the black man, the weaker man, the man who cow tows to the white man. . . "  
  
Holden stood up, his smile wide as tears glistened in his eyes. "Oh, come on, that's a bunch of Hogwash. . . " 


End file.
